


Across the Narrow Sea

by OnlyInAutumn



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boatsex, Developing Relationship, F/M, Meereen, POV Jon, Smut, Winerfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-29 12:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13927425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyInAutumn/pseuds/OnlyInAutumn
Summary: Instead of taking back Winterfell right away, Jon and Sansa sail across the Narrow Sea to become allies to Daenerys Targaryen as she readies to depart for the conquest of Westeros. Not even Jon can resist the Dragon Queen, and Daenerys quickly takes another lover.A three part series.Written for Jonerys week 2018, Day 10.





	1. Meereen

**—**

**Jon**

**—**

"Where will you go?” she asked in a quiet voice, as if she were still the small, young girl Jon once knew at Winterfell.

“Where will _we_ go,” he corrected her, a spark in her eyes following his statement. “If I don’t watch over you, father’s ghost will come back and murder me.”

Murder.

He almost let his composure crack. The wounds in his chest still felt cold.

“We can’t stay here, not after what happened. Only place we can go is south.”

“You’re wrong,” she immediately chipped in. Sansa grasped the cup in her hands more firmly and sat up straighter. “We can go east, to Essos.”

Jon choked on the food he had slowly been munching on. He wiped his mouth and asked, in disbelief, “ _Essos_?” He said it as if it were the strangest word he ever heard. “What?”

“I have a plan,” Sansa said to him, sitting up even straighter, relaxing against the back of the chair.

“And what bloody plan is that?”

“To go Meereen,” Sansa specified, smile appearing. She really did have a plan, he could tell, one that she had thought through. “To see the Dragon Queen.”

Jon’s face must have lost all color in it. “Even if we could, you want to just show up at her doorstep, and do what?”

“I wrote to Tyrion, he knows we will be coming.”

“Tyrion Lannister?”

“Do you know of any other men named Tyrion?”

Jon let his head fall into his hands and rubbed his temples. His little sister, reunited, and already giving him a headache.

“Tyrion is her Hand now, I found that out. We can give her the North, Jon, she needs allies,” Sansa started. “If we back her, she will help us win Winterfell back. Bran and Arya and Rickon are out there somewhere, and they need a place to come home to. _We_ need a place to go home to. The Starks have ruled the North for thousands of years. We can continue that, ruling for Daenerys.”

“The Boltons have Winterfell.”

“I know,” she said gruffly. “I _remember_.”

Jon let his eyes fall to the ground. “Is this really what you want? You think this is a good idea? To travel all the way to Essos and—”

“Cersei wants me dead. I’m not safe here, even with you, even with Brienne. She will find a way to get to me, I know it. Cersei Lannister is our enemy, and Daenerys Targaryen is coming across the sea at some point to take the crown back. The Lannisters are her enemy as well. Aligning ourselves with her makes sense. Don’t you see that?”

“Aye,” he mumbled, discontent, but unable to argue with her logic. “And how do you plan to sail there? We don’t have any ships.”

“Lord Baelish has provided a ship for us.”

His mouth dropped open in disbelief. “And what does he want in return? A man like that expects something.”

“He might expect.” Sansa shifted, the chair squeaking. “But who said he was going to get anything in return?”

Jon decided it was going to be best to stay out of it and let Sansa handle her own deals. He was learning that she was old enough to fight her own battles, or at least navigate them with some sense of direction.

“Brienne is coming with us, she won’t leave my side.”

“She wants to protect you,” Jon smiled. “I’m grateful for that.”

“Me too. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt safe and have been around people I trust.” Sansa rose from her seat, briefly putting her hands out in front of the fire to warm them. “Get some rest. We’ll leave in a couple of days..”

—

Jon had watched as the land disappeared, as Westeros went out of sight. He never in any kind of dream would have imagined that it would be happening, that he would be sailing off to Essos in search of the last Targaryen who had been named the Mother of Dragons.

Upon arrival in Essos, he was more than grateful to get off the ship. As they planted feet onto the docks, the first thing he noticed was how warm it was. Jon shifted in his attire, almost uncomfortable, needing to take a layer off, constricted by the leather.

The people looked different, the smells were different, even the air around him felt different. Essos. What a foreign land it was.

“Never thought I’d ever be here,” Jon said, mostly to himself.

Brienne led the way as Sansa walked past him, as if she knew the way. “Come on, Jon, it’s quite a walk from here.”

Jon turned his head halfway. “Come on, Ghost.”

The direwolf marched to his side and he followed, the four of them continuing down their path.

In the streets, the residents of Meereen did not seem to know what was more interesting—the massive wolf or Brienne, who was still covered in armor, and of course, towering over all of them.

People jumped, yes, _jumped_ out of their way as they caught sight of the animal, the large wolf with red eyes watching them all.

“Stay close, Ghost,” he warned.

—

It was a pyramid so high that the clouds might be low enough some days to touch the top. Inside as they waited, Jon grew anxious as he looked around.

“Maybe it would be better if I talk,” Sansa turned around to tell him before the doors were opened.

He understood completely. “That’s probably for the best,” Jon agreed.

When two guards, who were not dressed in guard attire, opened the doors, Jon deduced that they must be Dothraki. Brienne had mentioned the Dothraki to them on their walk to the Great Pyramid of Meereen, noticing a good portion of them in the streets, easily recognizable with their skin tones, clothing, and fierce expressions that they wore.

All Jon could hear was the deafening sound of his boots against the ground as they walked closer. When Daenerys came into view, sitting on a bench on top of the many steps leading to the top, Jon realized he hadn’t quite expected her to be so, well, beautiful. Maybe that was horrible of him to think, to be so shallow, but it was the first impression that he got.

He was reminded of Aemon and how gentle the man was, giving his wisdom to Jon. He had met a Targaryen before, so there was a chance that the one he was before would be kind as well. The white she wore, maybe that was a sign for the better. Jon had never seen anything like it, the silky fabric that clung to her form. His mouth had begun to part, but he quickly shut it, fearing it would remain agape as he gawked without control.

_Don’t look like a fool._

A woman to her side welcomed them all to the city before she stated, “You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen—"

As the woman rattled off the titles, Jon became distracted and wondered how she managed to remember them all.

Mother of Dragons.

That caught his attention.

Jon didn’t see any dragons on his way, but he was sure they would make an appearance at some point—hopefully not to devour him whole.

Brienne stepped forward. “This is Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell and her half-brother Jon Snow, former Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

Daenerys eyed Ghost. “What it _that_?”

She looked over at Jon, waiting. He considered himself lucky that Sansa didn’t have to nudge him to get him to answer.

“A direwolf,” he replied.

“A direwolf,” she repeated curiously.

“Yes.”

“Fully trained,” added Brienne, noticing that Daenerys had expected a bit more detail from Jon and he had not given that to her. “Well behaved, I must say.”

She looked satisfied enough with the answer and changed the course of their conversation. “What brings you here to Meereen?”

Sansa jumped in, keeping her voice soft, even though she spoke of tragedy. “Our home was taken from us. The North was taken from us, our family slaughtered. To be honest with you, Your Grace, we don’t exactly have anywhere else to go. Supporting your claim to the Iron Throne is the most logical thing to do. The Lannisters took everything from us. We wish to aid you in your conquest of Westeros.”

“The northern lords would flock to back a Stark if given the chance,” Varys encouraged, inspecting eyes falling down on them both.  “As brutish as they may be, Northerners are loyal.”

Daenerys considered it and seemed to like the idea, at least from where Jon was standing it seemed that way. But something passed through her mind, finding it worthy of saying.

“Your father, Lord Eddard Stark, played a significant part in Robert’s Rebellion, did he not?”

Jon tensed, knowing that it would come up. She had no reason to trust them.

“Yes,” Sansa replied sheepishly.

“Yet you come here. It’s very brave. Was it your idea?”

Sansa nodded her head.

“Lucky for you, I don’t punish children for the acts of their parents. You may stay in my company as we sail for Westeros.”

Jon was not sure if he had even heard it correctly, but due to Sansa smiling, he knew he must have. Had she really agreed that easily? Perhaps kindness was the new trait running through the Targaryen line, not madness. Out of the two Targaryens Jon had met, both were significantly opposite to the stories told of their family.

“If I may,” Tyrion added, clasping his hands together that made a loud echo against the thick walls. “I’ve known Lady Sansa for quite some time. She _would_ be more than capable of ruling the North in your name.”

Daenerys turned her attention to her Hand. “And how are you two acquainted? You’ve never mentioned it.”

Tyrion scratched at the back of his head, looking to be a bit uncomfortable from the awkward smile. “Well, you see, Your Grace, Lady Sansa and I were married once. Another Lannister trick, you might say.”

“With all of us here it seems the world is not so small,” she smiled, her eyes darting to Jon. He found himself unable to keep her gaze and glanced elsewhere, hoping she didn’t take offense to it. “I’m sure you three—” she looked down at Ghost “— _four_ are exhausted from your trip across the Narrow Sea. I’ll have beds made up for you here and we can talk more come the morning.”

“Your Grace,” Sansa started, pleased that everything went well. “We thank you for your hospitality.”

“Should they be allowed to keep their swords, My Queen?” Varys asked, distrustful.

Jon watched as Daenerys shook her head.  “I don’t think that it is necessary to remove them,” she commented.

—

The woman with warm eyes and kind features, who he understood was named Missandei, came knocking at his door several hours later once that sun was down.

“Queen Daenerys wishes to speak with you. If you could come this way…” she stepped backwards and extended her arm to the side to show him the direction they would be going.

“Uh,” he stammered, taken off guard. “Of course.”

He knew better than to refuse a request from the Queen of Meereen.

If he had been surprised that Daenerys had wished to speak with him, he was astounded that she wanted to talk with him in her own chambers. He had expected some sort of meeting room. No, it was _her_ room, her private courters. When the doors opened, he noted that it had been stripped down to the bare minimum, as she would be departing for Westeros soon.

“Jon Snow,” she greeted, standing in the middle of the room, wearing the same white dress as before.

_Don’t stare_.

“Your Grace.”

Jon turned his head over his shoulder to note that Missandei was closing the door shut behind her, leaving the two alone.

“Please,” she said as she stepped forward, “call me Daenerys.”

A turn of events…

_Daenerys,_ he repeated back in his head, making sure that he was getting the pronunciation right and would not offend her with some butchered version of her name. That _would_ be something that would happen to Jon.

“You wished to see me?”

“Yes, you didn’t talk much earlier.”

He shrugged his shoulder, sucking in a breath. “Words are my strong suit.”

“Brienne said you’re the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

“ _Was_ ,” he corrected her.

Before he was stabbed by his own brothers.

“ _Was_ the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,” she repeated. “So, I did hear correctly. From what I understand, that vow is for life. Given that you are standing here in front of me alive and well, how did you manage to leave?”

Was she questioning his honor? It made Jon shift his stance from one foot to the other, suddenly uncomfortable as the memories flooded back from his last days at Castle Black.

_For the Watch…_

_For the Watch…_

_For the Watch…_

He didn’t want to explain it but knew that giving a lie was not in his best interest. He sucked it up and revealed the information she was fishing for. “It’s true. The vow is until death.” Jon took a breath, averting his eyes to the floor. “And I served until I died.”

She was thoughtful for a beat, Jon looking up in time to see her as she smirked. “Until you… _died_?”

It sounded like she did not believe him. He couldn’t blame her.

“I have the scars to prove it,” he muttered, defensive.

Daenerys approached him, a few steps at a time. “Let’s see these scars then.”

Jon froze in place. He should not have said that, should not have talked back as he had. Still, she waited for him, motioning for him to proceed. Jon swallowed hard and began removing his layers, placing them on the ground, until his skin was exposed, pulling the last piece away to show his shame.

He didn’t dare look down at the red marks. The memories were enough of a reminder.

What he did do was watch as Daenerys let her mouth part, expression changing entirely. She moved closer to inspect until he felt her breath on him, prickling his skin instantly. Her hands flattened on his stomach without warning. It was a shock, so much so that he took a sharp inhale that Daenerys took note of.

He hadn’t been touched by a woman in years, but even more so, it was Daenerys Targaryen touching him.

Funny world it was.

A cruel one, yes, but utterly unpredictable.

“How?” she asked, breathless.

Her head tilted up to his, the violet in here eyes shimmering. He forgot why he was even there for a moment.

When Jon did not answer, she backed away, looking him up and down, her eyes making him feel self-conscious, fully aware that his heart was beating as if he had been running. He was foolish to assume that she was looking at him in more than an inspecting way, utterly foolish, but the thought crossed his mind and he found that he didn’t mind it so much.

“It’s a bit of a long story,” Jon replied as he snapped out of what he thought might be a daze.

He briefly wondered what Daenerys might say if he warned her right then and there that she was sailing for the Night King and the Army of the Dead, not just the Lannisters and their allies. It was hard to think about what happened that night in the snow when his brothers stabbed him to death without thinking about what Jon had seen on the other side of the Wall, the threat that he knew was marching south.

Trouble was that Daenerys might think he was half mad if he told her all of that and her willingness to be an ally with them would be in jeopardy. Jon kept his mouth shut about the Night King—at least he would for a little while.

“A long story? Is there a short version?”

“Not really,” he decided.

“Another night then.”

Another night. He played it back in his mind for a moment, wondering how many nights and days Jon would be in the company of Daenerys Targaryen and her army.

“Tell me, do you think this is going to be a long war, Jon?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

Jon smirked at how persistent she was. “A lot of things. There are a lot of players at this game.”

“A good portion of those players are on my side,” she revealed cautiously, her eyes narrowing in on Jon. “The Tyrells, Dorne, now Starks from the North. That’s half the continent already and I haven’t even left Essos yet.”

“I’m not sure the North counts in that tally yet. The Boltons have the North and Winterfell.”

“Your ancestral home,” she stated.

Jon cocked his head to the right. “The _Starks_ ancestral home,” he corrected.

Her full lips were brought into a smile.  “You are part Stark, are you not?”

“I am.”

“Ah, I see. You like to make things difficult for yourself, don’t you?”

He chuckled. “Apparently so, yes.”

Daenerys hesitated for a beat. “I assume you fight well?”

“I’m not good at much, but I can fight. Having a Valyrian steel sword helps.”

Her eyes went to the sword at his hips. “Is that a wolf on it? Like the one you brought with you?”

“Yes. Ghost, my direwolf, that’s his name.”

“Ghost,” she repeated back, intrigued. “And you can handle him, as Brienne said?”

“Is Tyrion worried?”

“Varys,” she clarified.

“Ghost will do as I tell him. It’s true, he is well behaved. You don’t have to be concerned over him.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” Daenerys began to tap her fingers on a circular table next to her after taking three steps to the left, launching into a whole new set of questions. “Where did you get that sword from? Valyrian steel is hard to come by.”

“The previous Lord Commander gave it to me, Jeor Mormont.”

She perked up. “Jorah Mormont’s father?”

Jorah Mormont, he knew the name, and more importantly, had heard about the people he had tried to sell into slavery. “Yes. You know of Jorah Mormont?”

She sighed. “That is also a story for another night.”

“Well, I served with this father at the Wall,” Jon explained, gripping the pummel of the sword. He unstrapped it from his hips and laid it down on the table before her for her to inspect. “He gave me his sword.”

Daenerys pulled the sword from its sheath, the blade out in all its glory. Her fingers ran down the steel, her reflection beaming off it. She raised an eyebrow at him. “The former Lord Commander must have really liked you to give you such a valuable object.”

“I think he did. I _hope_ he did. I avenged him, you should know. The mutineers that murdered him, they got what was coming for them. His death was never forgotten.”

“Good. I’m certain that Jorah would have been glad to hear that.” Her demeanor softened a touch as she put the sword back in the sheath, eyes lingering on the pummel before she crossed the room and sat at the edge of the bed, the sheet pulled tightly on all the ends to show no creases. “Well, you’re certainly noble.”

Jon offered a half grin. “I try to be.”

“I like that,” she told him.

Everything seemed so strange right then, in a way that had not register to him before—him there in Daenerys Targaryen’s bedroom, him half naked, her staring at him and asking him questions about his life.

“Should I put my shirt back on?” he was prompted to say, feeling like maybe he had missed the point where he should have taken the initiative and done it himself.

Her eyes narrowed, most likely seeing through his nervousness. She looked to be proud in a way, that she got him to be in such a state. “If you wish.”

_If you wish?_

What did that mean? Why were women so complicated?

Jon moved to pull the dark gray material up and over his head, covering the scars back up, all while she kept an eyes on him that Jon was acutely aware of. Before he got the chance to see if she wanted him to leave, there was a loud screeching sound from outside the pyramid walls that Jon had never heard before. He was startled by it, which was odd because was not one to be jumpy. Daenerys, on the other hand, rose from the bed and walked to the balcony.

“Come, Jon Snow.”

He did as he was told. Jon met her on the balcony, the view from above almost as good as the one on the Wall. There was a loud crashing from overhead, generous sized pieces from the pyramid tumbling down the steep length towards the bottom. Daenerys extended her hand out towards Jon to motion for him to turn around. That was when he saw what she was looking up at. The head of a massive dragon eased downward toward her and Jon stepped to the side carefully.

Indeed, a strange world it was.

A world were dead men rose and marched on the living, a world where he died and came back to life, a world where dragons that were once extinct were currently able to block out the sun in the sky, a world where he stood next to Daenerys Targaryen in Essos as she comforted her dragon.

Jon thought he might just have the most interesting life story to tell if he made it to old age.

“This is Drogon,” Daenerys announced, her hand soothing over the large beast’s snout. The dragon eased into her touch, its massive eyes closing shut. “He is the largest of my dragons.”

That was what shock felt like, he knew it had to be.

What could he possibly say?

“One of my three children.” Daenerys glanced over at him and laughed at his stiff, frozen stance. “You don’t have to be afraid. If you truly mean no harm to me, then he won’t harm you. A dragon knows the enemies and friends of its rider.”

Outstretched was her hand, and he took her hand. Daenerys drew him in slowly, finally placing his palm onto Drogon, her hand on top of his to guide his movements.

“See?”

Jon’s breath hitched in his throat as a rumble came out of Drogon. The large scales felt rough on Jon’s hand, but he thought it might be because Jon’s own hands were rough from years playing at Winterfell and his service in the Night’s Watch.

Daenerys withdrew her hand, Jon doing the same. Drogon launched off of the pyramid and into the sky, his massive wingspan creating a breeze that was mostly blocked by the balcony wall. Jon turned and faced the city, watching the creature fly into the night.

Astounding.

“My dragons were once stone eggs, but they are stone no longer. I brought them into the world, living and breathing.”

Jon let out an exasperated breath. “That’s magnificent,” he whispered.

_You’re magnificent,_ he almost blurted out.

“You said you’re a good fighter,” Daenerys repeated back to Jon. He took his eyes away from the flying dragon to watch Daenerys delicately place her hand on the ledge of the balcony.  “Were you implying that you would fight for _me_?”

After all that he had seen that day, he knew the answer.

“Yes.”

Something inside of him detached from his body—possibly his mind—and Jon came to a conclusive conclusion about his future standing there as he was mystified by the woman in front of him and what he had just witnessed.

Yes, he knew.

He was going to say the bloody vow, another vow, another vow he would uphold until the end. Jon walked back inside and grabbed his sword, it by his side as he sauntered back out to the balcony. She was not alarmed by the action, only curious. Jon cleared his throat and got to his knees before her, sinking down slowly.

"I swear my allegiance to you. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new." 

She stared at him, mouth parting, completely taken aback. Then, she stepped forward. "And I vow that you shall _always_ have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new."


	2. Narrow Sea

He had told Tyrion about the Night King. _“I’ll talk to her. We take the kingdom first, then we address this dead army you claim is out there. Don’t mention this to anyone else.”_

That was what he had said to him right before they left Meereen. Jon, of course, would rather deal with the Night King first, but he was in no position to argue. 

Jon did not quite like being on the ship. When they had first sailed for Essos, it had taken him three full days to acclimate to the constant rocking. Needless to say, he as not thrilled to once again be back on a ship. Luckily, they were only a few days from landfall so Jon counted his blessings on that front.

It had been an interesting number of days on the ship. There had been several times during the time that they were dining together that Jon would let his eyes settle on Daenerys as she laughed. His eyes on multiple occasions had flickered to her legs, slightly parted under her dress, thinking of being between them until suddenly he cursed himself for even letting that enter his brain.

He was bastard. Her, a Queen. A Targaryen—a Mother of Dragons.

What would she ever want with _him_?

Still, the thoughts persisted until he would be alone in his cabin, the gentle rocking of the sea lulling him off to sleep. He did not remember his dreams entirely come morning, as per usual, but he did remember the flickers of whitish silver, which he thought was probably her hair.

Daenerys was meant to stay in his dreams, he had thought that several times over.

As Jon walked down the narrow corridor as the sun was setting above desk, ready to begin settling in for the night, he found himself narrowing in on her door, a Targaryen sigil carved into the wood. Jon twisted his neck down the other side of the corridor, his room at the end, but it seemed so far away to him.

The thought of his hand knocking at her door flashed through his mind, but suddenly it was doing just that without his permission.

No.

He should not be there, he knew that, knew it better than anyone.

Before Jon could get the chance to realize that trying to dash away and not be seen would not only be embarrassing, but also ridiculous, the door flashed open. Jon was completely confused as to how he had gotten there, his mouth parted but no words there to explain himself. The even trickier part was that Daenerys looked happy to see him, which threw him even more into confusion.

“Jon,” she breathed lightly. “Is everything alright?”

He snapped out of it. “Uh, yes, I’m sorry. I should not have bothered you.”

He went to turn away and quickly shut himself away in his own chambers, but she was quick to prevent him from leavening. “Come in.”

Jon twisted his shoulders back. Daenerys let the door fall open wide as she waved him in, stepping aside. Without thinking of any consequences, Jon stepped through, shutting the door behind him as she requested him to.

There, the two alone in her cabin, Jon felt his heart rate pick up in speed. His nerves were bouncing in every direction as he waited for some type of further instruction. He scratched at the unshaved hair that grew along his jawline, wishing he had taken a blade to it over a basin that morning.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he told her, his inner thoughts being shared.

She laughed to herself. “And why is that?”

“I’m a bastard,” he breathed out with a tense jaw.

“Yet, you _want_ to be here.” She saw right through him. “You say you’re a bastard...do you think I would have brought you in here if that mattered to me?”

Oh.

She walked backward until her knees hit the bed and she sat down with grace, still watching him. There was something going through her mind, and Jon thought he might know what it was, as crazy as that sounded even to himself. No, she could not possibly…

“Jon?” she asked.

His thumbs dug into the material covering his thighs. “Yes?”

“You don’t have to keep all those on,” she told him, motioning her hand up and down, referring to his clothes.

Jon looked down, his feet shifting nervously in his boots, hands linking behind his back. “Would it please you if they were all off?”

Daenerys smirked, raising her eyebrow at him. “It would.”

She was bold, he could give her that much.

It was hard to form a coherent thought after that—because when the Mother of Dragons remarked she would like him to remove his clothes, Jon figured that would throw anyone off course.

(and he was not about to leave her waiting)

Before he knew it, he had pulled most of his layers off, with only breeches remaining, all while thinking that he had not misread the signals she gave at the Great Pyramid when they were alone in her chambers there.

Jon undid the laces and stepped out of his breeches entirely, standing bare and already hard before her. Watching her analyze him, wondering if he should feel inadequate or not, was horribly frustrating in the best possible way. Yes, the waiting was torture, but she must have known he was already falling down the hole of desire and the light at the top was beginning to cave in and disappear.

When she scooted back in bed, Jon moved forward, testing the waters.

At the edge, he leaned a knee down, it sinking down as he put his weight onto the bed, crawling towards her as Daenerys laid down, never breaking eye contact. Where the confidence had come from, he had no idea, but was thankful for it. Daenerys was intrigued, wanting to see what he was going to do next, how he was going to handle her and take control of the situation that had unfolded before him.

Daenerys ran her hands down his torso, playfully biting her lip. As he hovered over her, she abruptly brought her head up, kissing him before suddenly pulling away again, all to tease him, leave him wanting more.

The shock of her lips on his was enough to throw him into a spiral of want and need.

She had breeches on underneath the dress she wore, the hem of that falling below her knees. Jon went for that material first, lifting her ankle as he pulled the breeches down and off her body. By that point his cock had swollen to the point of making him mad, every movement outside of her a form of punishment.

Daenerys grabbed him, Jon finding his way to her lips again, nearly falling on top of her. It was a moment where he didn’t know how he got there but was ever grateful that he had.

As his hands roamed, Jon didn’t even think he could manage the amount of time it would take to figure out how the bloody dress would come off.

“Please,” was all he could say, murmuring his desperate plea that marked him as a weak man against her lips.

Daenerys put her weight into it as she rolled them, admiring Jon’s body as she went to remove the dress. His head rolled back into the pillow, frustrated—and she took too long to undo some of the laces and different parts of the intricate dress. As a result, Jon gave up and he grabbed her at the waist and pinned her down back onto the bed.

“You cannot wait, can you?” she giggled.

No, he was thoroughly desperate.

Daenerys had taken to casually laying there with her arms outstretched above her head, haphazardly strew against a pillow. And even though she was still mostly clothed, Jon could not even bother to be concerned about that anymore. He was too turned on, too engulfed at looking into her eyes that were hazily staring back at him to care.

Jon grabbed her thighs and pulled her down more towards him, took his cock, and guided himself into her, only needing one swift thrust.

And, _fuck_ , was it good.

So warm, so snug around him.

So _safe._

Jon had to break the eye contact or it would have been too much. His muscles tensed for a moment before he forced the tension to be relieved, molding against her body, propped up by an elbow. One hand was on her thigh to keep the dress up enough, the other resting so that it was wedged under her shoulder, fingers curled upward and over, pressed onto the end of the collarbone.

He could not bring himself to look at her again. One more look at her perfect face would have sent him over the edge too soon. Instead, he buried into her shoulder, thinking to himself that he should try not to be loud.

As her finger nails dragged against his back, Jon felt alive. He grabbed a fistful of the sheets as her hand grabbed his ass at the last moment as his hips jerked against her. He made some embarrassingly throaty sounds that fell out of his mouth without a care, coming to a still on top of her.

Jon went to pull away but her hand flatted against his back, preventing him from going. And then he was looking at her again, a slight sheen across her face, lit up by candles. In that moment, he didn’t feel so hollow inside. A strange sensation it was, to feel as if something had begun to bud after taking root.

He was still looking at her then, soft eyes with violet orbs looking back into his darker ones.

Something was changing, he could sense it somewhere deep inside of him, somewhere in a place that had never been seen by another, and he knew that she felt it too.

A few minutes went by until he rolled off of Daenerys. He was not sure what the proper course of action was, always unsure when it came to her. “Should I go now?” he asked.

She shifted so that she laid her head on top of his chest, soft hair tickling the skin. “Stay.”

And his heart melted into her entirely.

—

It was the best night sleep he had gotten since leaving Winterfell some many years ago when he was just a boy.

Jon stirred around, feeling that he had moved about in his sleep, limbs sprawled out in every direction against softer sheets than he had ever had. Jon could sense the sunlight on his eyelids, streaming through the windows without mercy, the light only enhanced by being surrounded by reflective waters. He grumbled as he opened his eyes, them settling on a figure close to him.

The woman standing at the edge of the bed spooked him, Jon grabbing the covers that covered his lower half as he retracted. “I’m very sorry, Lord Snow, I did not mean to startle you.”

Jon looked to his left to find that Daenerys was not there. He drew his eyes back to Missandei, who obviously was well aware of what had happened last night, given that Jon was naked and had slept in the chambers that belonged to Daenerys. Jon felt uneasy about that, of Missandei knowing, feeling as if he wanted to sink into the bed and not come back up.

“Breakfast is ready,” she hinted, and put folded clothes down onto the foot of the bed, patting them once before removing her hand.

“Missandei,” he called after her as she turned towards the door.

“Yes?”

“Just call me Jon,” he requested gently. He was no Lord of anything. Ser Allister’s insults of _Lord Snow_ had been enough to handle. Thought Missandei had only meant to be proper, it brought back bad memories Jon wished to forget. “Please.”

Missandei gave a short bow of her head and then disappeared through the door again. Jon took a moment to look around, the chambers looking very different with the sunlight coming through. If he had not woken up there, Jon would not have believed that last night’s events had taken place.

Daenerys and him…he remembered it all, every word, every look, every feeling.

The question was, what was she going to do with him? He pondered the thought as he dressed his lower half and exited her room, headed for his own room before anyone might notice him.

—

He decided it would be best to be clean shaven, that is, until Tyrion Lannister entered his room to question him further about the Night King. He was leaning over the wash basin, Tyrion mid-sentence, when all of a sudden, he changed the subject entirely.

“What is that?”

Jon looked around, toweling off his damp face that was smooth again. “What?”

“On your back?”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “How am I supposed to be able to see what you are talking about?”

Jon tried to feel for what Tyrion might be referring to but did not notice anything out of the ordinary. “What is it?”

His fingers pointed. “Four lines on each side of your shoulder blades. That is not from the injuries you received at Castle Black.” Tyrion closed his eyes. “Please, tell me it’s not what I think.”

“I don’t know what you think,” he murmured, pulling on a loose shirt.

_Four lines on each side?_

_Four lines…four fingers…_

Oh _._

He remembered Daenerys having her nails sink into him when he was on top of her. It must have led to some scratches appearing on him during their passionate late night encounter—if that was even the words to describe it.

Jon looked down at the ground bashfully, knowing that Tyrion was smart enough to have connected the dots already, and that there would be no use in trying to persuade him that it was not what it looked like.

It was exactly what it looked like.

Tyrion clunked an elbow down onto the table, resting his head into his palm. “I tell her to leave one lover behind,” he sighed, then motioned to Jon, “and she goes and takes another.”

The word sent Jon into an internal frenzy. “I’m not her lover,” he defended lowly, awkward about it.

Daenerys Targaryen’s lover would not be someone like himself, even if the thought was enticing.

“Oh?” Tyrion laughed, then sipped on some wine that he had just poured himself. His fingers drummed the table, staring Jon down. “I never took you for being naïve, Jon Snow, but it seems as though in the area of women you are.”

Well, he could not deny that.

“Do you think that Daenerys is the type who would invite someone to her bed only once? Especially as we are all trapped on these waters together, and presumably much longer after that.”

Jon shifted. “I don’t know.”

“So, here you are, claiming you are not her lover. Tell me, if she wanted you again, you would you refuse her?”

He felt defeated. “No,” he answered honestly.

Tyrion waved a whimsical hand throughout the air. “Well, there you have it, Jon Snow. You _are_ Daenerys Targaryen’s lover and she is yours.”

—

She was above deck when he found her, wind in her hair as they sailed forward. The sun above was beating down with intensity, reflecting off the water that surrounded the ship. Jon watched Daenerys standing there at the stern for a little bit until he decided to approach.

When she turned, Jon stopped a few yards away. “You slept well,” she commented with a smile, twisting towards him entirely. “You needed it.”

“Ahh,” he started, nervous again, and fell into a joke as a default, “that was why you let me do that last night, to tire me out?”

She appreciated he humor, to his relief. “You certainly seemed to enjoy yourself,” she countered, watching his reaction closely.

He bit down on his lip, tempted by the thought. “I’m sorry about last night,” he admitted, thinking back to it. “I don’t know what came over me…I shouldn’t do that again.”

She was not expecting that. Daenerys looked to be taken aback by such a claim, her pose straightening out. “Why?”

“There’s the risk of getting you pregnant.”

For all he knew, he had put a child in her last night, had she not taken Moon Tea. He doubted they had that on the ship.

“There is no risk,” she flatly said, realizing that was his only hesitation, the reason he felt guilty.

Jon was confused. “Why is that?”

“I can’t have children. There is no risk.”

“Can’t have children?” he asked. “Why do you think that?”

“A witch cursed me.”

Jon’s jaw clenched. “A witch,” he stated with a dark tone. “Doesn’t sound to me that this witch would be a trustworthy person. It could be a lie.”

“It has been years since then, Jon.”

He joined her up by the stern, the wind blowing his curls backwards. “All I’m saying is that maybe you should reconsider what she told you.”

Daenerys rolled her eyes at him, something he found to be endearing. She put one hand onto the wooden railing that surrounded the ship. “Even if you were to somehow get me pregnant, what would it matter? I’ll be the Queen. The child would be the heir. It would work out well for the both of us.”

Her viewpoint was so simple it nearly fooled him. However, Jon knew better. “You would have a bastard’s child on the throne?” he laughed at the absurdity.

He did not mean it in a way that would offend, but her eyes went cold. “Stop that,” she spat out, turning her body away so she was shutting him off effectively.

Jon instantly felt like an idiot. “I’m sorry,” he apologized with haste. “I shouldn’t have spoke that way—”

“It’s not about that,” she said back gruffly, eyes flickering with both anger and disappointment.

“Then, what?”

“You keep saying that about yourself,” she told him, sounding frustrated. “That you’re a bastard, as if it makes you less of a person. Stop saying it.”

Daenerys truly was something else.

“Oh,” he breathed out, the air sucked out of his lungs all at once. “I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

She turned towards the sea. “Now you know.”

It became clear to him that she wanted to be left alone, so Jon saw it best to go back below deck.

—

As it turned out, he could not stay away for long.

He went back to her room that night, knocking on the door as quietly as he could manage. He wanted to make it about her, only her, and wanted to make up for his poor choice of words earlier.

He wanted to be the one to tire _her_ out.

She must have had an idea of why Jon was there, accepting him inside without any questioning, the door shutting behind them once again. It was later than the previous night, Daenerys already out of her day attire, with nothing but a thin robe wrapped around her body.

Perfect.

Without saying a word, Jon pulled her in, hand grabbing ahold of her waist. He kissed her hard, tilting her head to the side to get to her neck, a trail of wet kisses from her jaw to her collarbone. It was the attention he had failed to give previously.

Her picked her up and tossed her onto the bed, Daenerys surprised by the action. Her features were intrigued, he could tell that much, his actions unexpected.

He rid himself of what was on his upperhalf, leaving his breeches so he was not tempted. Jon undid the tie at the side of her waist, pulling off the material until she laid bare. He hovered overtop of her body, still kissing her, mouth covering every inch he could get to. He let his hand smooth up and over her stomach as he grabbed her breast, head sliding in between her legs as he let his mouth and tongue get to work.

Daenerys released a content sigh, her thighs pressing against the sides of his head. His hair had been pulled back into a bun for the purpose of the evening he planned, but that did not stop Daenerys from weaving her fingers into the thick curls and messing it all around.

She mumbled in a language he did not understand, but from the other sounds she made, Jon knew that he was doing a good job. Her fingers yanked at the roots of his hair, which he liked, even making him smile against her.

He still had one hand palming her breast when her back arched up, her four fingers wrapping around his thumb as ecstasy washed through her. Jon removed his mouth, taking in wild breaths of air, looking up at Daenerys. She truly was the most beautiful creature to ever walk their world. Nothing would ever convince him otherwise.

Beautiful.

Powerful.

Compassionate.

Did anyone ever have such a rare mix of traits before?

“Jon,” she sighed contently.

He stroked the flesh of her breast with his thumb as she removed her fingers, his cock so swollen that all he could think was how he needed Daenerys. Moving an inch in any direction was terribly uncomfortable…and she was right there, already naked, wet, and seeming to want him.

_No_ , he reminded himself, _you were only here for her._

_Be good._

_Don’t be greedy._

Jon pushed backwards and landed on his feet before he had the chance to give into temptation. He had to leave before it was too late.

“Where are you going?”

His body was yelling at him the same thing as Jon started to head towards the door, forgetting about how he was only half clothed—though it would not be the first time he were to flee from her courters that way.

“I—”

Jon never got the chance to finish his sentence on explaining that he had only come there for her, to make that night about her only. Daenerys got off the bed and pushed him up against the wall, getting to her knees. She pulled him out of his breeches, yanking them down his thighs, all while Jon plastered himself there against the wall in anticipation.

There was no resisting. It was too impossible.

Jon groaned as soon as her mouth hit him. He stirred around against the wall, the slow sucking relaxing him, her tongue swirling. Jon was afraid to touch her, to disrupt the balance, but he let go of any hesitation and let his hand fall into her hair.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breathless.

When she removed her mouth and Jon opened his eyes, he didn’t think he was even going to be able to see straight. Daenerys was driving him mad in the best possible way, pushing him far enough to the edge that he just needed a small push to fall over.

She knew it.

She used it to her advantage.

Daenerys pulled him over to the bed again. He laid there on his back as Daenerys shifted upward and mounted him, easing down onto him before his mind had realized what had happened. “Dany,” he moaned, not even sure why he had shortened her name like that, but it was all he could muster.

With the way she moved, she was some kind of goddess, he decided. His hands pressed firmly against her hips, the softness of her skin making him hardly able to control any part of himself. He knew then that it would become a regular nighttime affair, the two of them not able to deny themselves the other.


	3. Westeros

It was a wonderous thing being there as Daenerys set foot on Dragonstone once again, the sandy beaches awaiting her return. The last time she was there she was only baby girl, just born. She fled to a life that no child should have, then returned with an army, three dragons, wealth, and powerful allies.

And Jon—whatever he might count as.

The first day they landed, Dany took the day to explore the castle. The rest of them stayed back and let her presence fill all the halls and rooms that she travelled to, examining her home, her ancestral seat.

Dragonstone.

It was magnificent.

The castle was like nothing Jon had ever seen, uniquely different in all aspects possible. From inside, the echo of the dragons bounced off the walls. They knew they were home, yet Dany told Jon later that it did not feel much like a home to her. It made him want to take her to Winterfell, to show her his own home.

_One day soon_ , he reminded himself. They had to take it one step at a time.

—

Jon was surprised by how Daenerys was not wanting to hide him. There was a room set up for Jon if he wanted it, but he stayed with Dany instead. It became public knowledge, yet Tyrion seemed the only one who was hesitant.

It irritated Jon, but he understood. Strategically, it was a bad idea to have Jon by her side. Then again, Jon wondered if Daenerys was even going to venture to take a husband when she was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

She could do it all on her own, an attractive quality to Jon.

So, when he saw her there, watching her sit down on the carved out throne at Dragonstone, it reaffirmed everything for Jon. She belonged there. She _was_ the Queen.

It was particularly unnecessary of him to kneel down and offer his sword to her once again, but in that moment, it felt like the right thing to do. She rose out of the throne, walking towards him until she knelt down to his level, forcing him to the ground, kissing him roughly.

“Where have you been all this time?” she mumbled as he kissed down her neck.

Jon took her right there in the throne room, the guards on the outside of the door probably getting an earful.

—

Something else that surprised him was how much Daenerys had grown to trust him and his judgement in such a short amount of time. There was a strong connection there that had developed unexpectedly on both their parts. Neither could explain it and neither felt the need to. It was there and they knew it, felt it, and moved with it.

“We would be splitting the army” Tyrion mentioned carefully, trying to plan strategically when Sansa mentioned that Daenerys take the North and work her way to the southern lands.

There around the map of Westeros, everyone was there. Lady Olenna Tyrell, Ellaria Sand, Tyrion, Varys, Missandei, Grey Worm, Brienne, Sansa, and Jon. Even Ghost was in the corner, not leaving Jon’s side.

“It’s true, you would be splitting your army,” Jon interrupted, “ _and_ you would be forcing them to be splitting theirs too.” He shifted his eyes to Daenerys. “Force them to fight on two fronts, in the north and the south. They won’t be able to withstand it for long without reinforcements. If you cut off their access to the sea, they are sitting ducks.”

“He speaks the truth,” Ellaria commented, happy with the plan, examining Jon from across the table.

Jon felt a bit bad for having to stomp on Tyrion’s plan, but Jon was smart enough to know how war worked. “You can’t send Lady Olenna back without part of an army either. I understand Casterly Rock is valuable,” he said to Tyrion as he spoke, “but do you really think that Jaime and Cersei are going to just allow the Tyrells to declare war on them and leave them be?”

“Finally, somebody said it,” Lady Olenna sighed. She put two elbows down onto the table and pointed at Jon. “You should keep this one around.”

Jon stifled the smirk that was trying to creep onto his face.

Daenerys took a moment, rising from her seat, her decision made. “Very well.” She shared a brief look with Jon. “Grey Worm can depart with Lady Olenna and the Dornish forces to lead in the south. We will go to Winterfell.”

“Your Grace,” Tyrion tried to interrupt.

“Jon is right. He was the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and is a grand fighter. He would not have made it this far had he not been. He knows what he is talking about.”

Tyrion nodded, accepting her decision.

“The Boltons need to be flushed out. We march to the North. Afterwards, Sansa will take over the control of Winterfell. The Wildlings who remain around Castle Black that Jon says will also aid in our cause,” she started, “as long as they abide by my rule and no longer raid villages, I will leave it to Sansa to designate them lands as long as they also aid in holding the North until the war is over.”

Jon nodded, satisfied with the answer, as was everyone else, apart from maybe Tyrion. Jon had no doubt that he would come to see the plan would work better than his original one.

_Winterfell_.

He was headed home.

But, then again, the White Walkers were also headed that way…

 

—

“Well, you could always surrender,” he offered.

It was a generous offer, given the circumstances. Jon did not know the details of Sansa’s stay with Ramsey, unable to stomach it. Sansa never shared it with him either, not wanting her brother to know, but she had shared with Daenerys, who was then more eager to help them take back their home. Daenerys and Sansa had bonded of their commonalities—Jon thought it was in part why Dany knew Sansa was capable of taking on such a task of ruling Winterfell.

Ramsey was not so keen on letting that happen. He had no idea about Sansa and Jon allying with Daenerys, which meant he was free to be as cocky as he wanted to be in front of them. He would be eating his words soon enough.

Surrender.

It wouldn’t happen.

Still, Ramsey Bolton was marked as a dead man either way.

And there he was on his horse, Ramsey’s face twisted up by the offer of surrender. It was like he did not believe the words Jon had just spoken. The laugh that came out of him next was eerie, almost nonhuman. “Surrender,” he barked, still laughing, looking at those on his side. He cocked his head to the side. “You’re a funny one, aren’t you? Who knew the Bastard of Winterfell was such a comical boy.”

Jon looked over at Sansa, who despite everything, was smirking. “He has no idea what is coming for him,” she remarked, eyes narrowing in on the enemy who was legally her husband.

“What’s coming for me? A couple thousand Wildlings?” he laughed back. “A few men from each of your _few_ still loyal Houses here in the North?”

More like ten thousand Dothraki, their horses, and three dragons…

Jon wanted to tell him how they would all fall, that all of Ramsey’s men were no match for an even a lone dragon and no army, but he kept his mouth shut. The element of surprise was always crucial in battle, even if there was absolutely nothing Ramsey would be able to do to stop Drogon if he were to know right then and there.

“No one has to die—”

“Apart from you,” Sansa mumbled to herself, still channeling her anger towards Ramsey.

“We could even settle this right now, you and me,” Jon offered, continuing, Longclaw at his side.

He knew Ramsey would never take that offer, but he wanted to watch him back out of it like the true coward he was. Jon knew how skilled he was with a sword, and even Ramsey knew that. Not to boast, but it would be hard to find someone to beat Jon in one on one combat.

“I think I’d rather watch from afar as my army cuts you all down.”

Jon kept his face blank as he thought about what it would be like when Dany showed up on Drogon. Ramsey certainly would not be smirking anymore.

—

Rickon’s death hit him will full force. Another family member lost. His little brother would be buried next to their father, down there so they could visit, just as Jon was doing since the castle had been restored to Stark name. He wondered what his father might tell him if he could. Would he be proud?

“So, these are the crypts of Wintefell,” Daenerys said, sneaking up on him.

Daenerys hooked a torch into an empty iron holder attached to the wall and Jon motioned to the statue that was newly lit from the fire. “This is father.” He tried to hold it together. “We will have Rickon buried here as well.”

“I’m so sorry,” she immediately told him, a crack in her voice, and he felt the soft touch on his arm, trying to reel him in.

Down there in the crypts, he let the façade crack for a moment, and fell against her, the furs of her cloak molding around his eyes as he started to weep. His chest heaved as he remembered Rickon’s scared face as he ran towards him, and Jon couldn’t save him in time, Jon not planning for that. He imagined Ramsey would have kept Rickon in the castle, but he had been wrong. He had fallen into the trap that Sansa had warned him of.

What a fool—and absolute fucking fool.

“Shhh,” Dany soothed.

It was not just Rickon he sobbed for, but all those lost along the way.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve, trying to turn away from her. “I shouldn’t be—”

She grabbed him, her lips planted right onto his to make him stop talking. “Don’t apologize. I want you to be able to share your heart with me. Tears are no weakness. Even the strongest have their moments of great sadness.”

All feelings of inferiority because of his sobbing display dissipated.

“And even the strongest have their moments of doubt. Just look at me. I guess a part of me wasn’t sure if you really were going to fight for me. That at some point you might betray me, yet here we are.”

“Why would you think that?”

“People can easily deceive, I suppose. That is always that in the back of my mind.”

Jon shook his head. “I love you, of course I would fight for you. I believe in you.”

Her eyes widened. “…love me?”

Oh.

He didn’t mean for it to slip out like that.

“This is the worst timing,” he mumbled to himself.

—

It was a miracle they were able to make it back to Jon’s room, the one he had stayed in as a child all up until the point that he had left.

“You overwhelm me,” he admitted, more secrets rolling off his tongue. But, now that he had started, he could not stop. “Ever since I first saw you, I wanted you.”

Jon sucked on her neck, pink spots appearing, bumping into a table with Dany in tow.

“Oh?”

He remembered it so clearly. Her there in her white dress in the Great Pyramid. “Aye.”

She pressed down hard on his chest and he fell backwards onto the bed, head hitting the pillows with force. She smiled down at him, adjusting herself to the new position as Jon’s hands ran up her thighs. “Did you ever imagine you _would_ have me?”

“I imagined there would sooner be a day that—”

She kissed him more, inhibiting him from finishing his sentence of all the wild scenarios that would have happened before he thought he would be with Daenerys.

Soft waves of hair fell over her shoulders and hit the sides of his cheeks. “Daenerys,” he moaned.

Her tongue ran over his scars and Jon nearly lost it there. “Fuck me,” she hissed at him, seductive, slow and drawn out, trying to get a rise out of him.

It worked because, _Gods_ , he could not stand it any longer.

Half their clothes were still on, but he did not care. Jon pushed her into the bed, got his breeches off enough, and thrust inside her all at once.

“I love you,” he repeatedly said again

—

They were laying there, Jon on his back and Dany on her stomach, but both their faces turned towards each other, fingers laced together. Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, was there in _his_ bed—the Bastard of Winterfell—and all Jon could think of was that it felt like she was supposed to be there with him, that everything had led up to that point. Every trial, every tribulation he went through was all to get to the point of him finding her and them coming together.

Somehow fate had brought them together.

_Fate_ —that was a tricky matter to him, never one to believe in it. But it was had to deny there might be a greater hand a play.

He had confessed his love. She didn’t say it back to him, but that did not hurt him in the slightest. Daenerys had been somewhat cautious up to the point they were at, wary of _all_ men, he assumed. With the stories she had told him, Jon could not blame her for putting up walls. He did the same thing, yet his backstory was not nearly as troubling as hers.

—

When she explained that she had to leave with the dragons to march south after not even a fortnight had come and gone, Jon readied to go with her. He would stay by her side. That was up until Arya returned, and Daenerys told Jon to stay for a while, to have some time with his family. Daenerys never knew what it was like to have a loving family, but she could tell how much Jon’s meant to him, at least, what was left of it.

With her aware of the Night King, she wanted Jon to have a quality amount of time with Arya, and Sansa. He had just returned, all three of them had, and that was something special. Daenerys was not about to rip him away from Winterfell when he had arrived not long ago.

He was grateful, but also torn.

“I swore a vow to you,” he declared.

“Staying here for a little bit does not mean that you are breaking that vow,” she countered. Her warm hand pressed against his cheek. “It is my wish for you.”

“Is it command?” he challenged, just to see what her answer might be.

She shook her head. “I won’t force you to do anything.” She took a step closer. “I never told you,” she mentioned, her hand squeezing his before she prepped to disappear through the main gates, “when you told me. I love you, Jon. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone. We will see each other again.”

It gave him hope, a rare thing to come by those days.

—

There was burnt ground all around them, as Drogon had marked the soil, burning up Bolton forces in the initial attack. Snow fell overtop, burying any sign that Daenerys or her dragons had been there. It made him sad, heart still aching.

He didn’t know how to tell her.

Bran had returned also, another good sign. Their family had found a way back to their home. Bran, his little brother, looked so much more grown up. He had told Jon everything so calmly, so…stoic, like he was only a shell of a person. Jon didn’t want to process any of it at first, but forced himself to. Bran had no issue with Dany and Jon, as Targaryens were to wed each other. It was their way of life.

Jon wasn’t so sure.

Doubt was always his biggest enemy.

—

Sam had come with Gilly, revealing even more of a truth—a secret marriage.

Another few weeks passed by until a scroll arrived by raven as Jon continued to work things out in his head. He nearly fainted when he read the words. Dany’s hand-written note not only told him how much she wished him there by her side, missing him dearly, but that Daenerys was pregnant. He was the one to have given her the child that grew inside of her.

The scroll slowly found its way onto the table, Jon going frozen.

Snow.

Bastard.

Brother.

Member of the Night’s Watch.

Lord Commander.

Aegon Targaryen.

_Father._

He had many names, many titles, but that last one, well, that one was way different from the rest.

Really, was it true? Had his doubtful comment about the witch cursing Daenerys to never have children again and it not being correct, was it really been true? He felt a bit faint again, taking the scroll, memorizing every word of it.

—

“You should go to her,” Arya told him, her hands linked behind her back. She looked so mature that Jon sometimes thought he did not recognize her. They had all changed. “You know it’s the right thing to do.”

“What of you? What of Sansa and Bran?”

She gave a slight smile and tilted her head. “I’ll keep Sansa and Bran safe until you return.” Arya walked over to the fireplace and stared into the flames. “Bran will track the Night King’s movements while you’re away. I’ll be sure to write to you and give updates.”

“You really think I should go?”

“I know you should go, and I know that you want to go.” Arya turned around and sat down next to Jon, taking his hand. “Go make sure that my niece or nephew is safe.”

Jon smirked, somewhat sadly. “I’m not your brother.”

She rolled her eyes at him in a classic Arya way. “Yes, you are. You always will be. Nothing has changed. Your child is my niece or nephew, so don’t pretend otherwise.”

Oh, had he missed Arya.

—

To his utter shock, her stomach had grown round, a bump underneath easily visible. She was halfway through the pregnancy by the time he reached her at Riverun.

Daenerys smiled at him, crossing over tall, dried out grasses to get to him where he stood by his horse. His jaw dropped as it all became a reality, standing there motionless, eyes fixated on her stomach that was covered by a dress that showed it off. She was not afraid of people knowing.

“Jon,” she breathed, happy to see him. “You came.”

His hand shakily place itself onto her stomach, her hand covering overtop of his. She started to talk about the child when he just blurted out what Bran told him as if he were some drunken fool.

Stupid.

Why had he done it like that?

—

In a tent, all alone, Jon did not know what to say after he exhaustedly told her everything he knew from what Bran had seen.

In the time it took to get from Winterfell to Riverrun, Jon had let it all go, seeing her pregnant being the final snip that took the doubt away.

“I’m shocked,” she said, visibly so. Her hand protectively rested onto her stomach and Jon resisted the urge to do the same. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything. Arya told me something in Winterfell, that nothing had changed, that I was still her brother. This is the same, I’ve come to find. You and I, nothing is going to change. I want to be here for you, for this child.”

She looked to be relieved by his speech, moved, even. Her hand outstretched and cupped his face. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

—

The Lannisters were getting desperate as the Targaryen forces were pinning them into King’s Landing. It was only a matter of time.

One last attempt they staged, Jaime Lannister at the head of their army. Jon was there when it happened, Daenerys not risking flying Drogon due to the child she had inside of her. There was chaos on the field, little in their way. The Dothraki were stunning and brutal fighters, as Jon had never seen anything like it.

Jon was caught in the middle, blood stained. More than a dozen had fallen by his sword. That was when they recognized each other instantly. Jon remembered his smugness in Winterfell, that irritating grin. Jon's eyes found the gold hand, a clear indicator of who it was, the symbol marking Jaime Lannister as a lesser swordsman then he was before.

They had to fight.

There was no choice.

It was war and Jon’s loyalty was to Daenerys, to the future.

(and, well, Jon never liked the guy anyways)

It was a moment of madness, maybe. Jon felt everything at once—the death of his father, the loss of Robb and Rickon, the torment given to Sansa, the stab of thinking for years that Bran and Arya were most likely among the dead, and even the horrific slaughter of Lady Catelyn—all the pain that had built up and he had forced away bubbled to the surface.

The Lannisters were behind all of it.

Lannisters.

They only brought pain and suffering. It had to end.

—

From his place face up on the ground, her head blocked out the sun and Jon thought that out of all the things to see before he died, the woman he loved took the top slot. Only he wasn’t about to die, she told him, and Jon was carried off to a nearby tent to get bandaged up and have the wounds sown. More scars he would bear, but they were ones he would look back and say he earned.

—

The war with the Lannisters was over, but another was yet to come. The Night King still marched, though Jon did not know what his plan to get past the Wall was. Magical creatures could not pass, that was known.

By the time they made it back to Winterfell, Daenerys was heavily pregnant. She was uncomfortable, though she tried to mask it. Her eyes told him she was ready to give birth, but her eyes also showed some fear. Dany had disclosed the details of her last pregnancy, the loss she experienced. She was afraid of history repeating.

Jon did his best to calm her worries and keep the dark thoughts at bay.

There in bed, she tossed and turned every which way until Daenerys sat up straight and propped up a few pillows behind her.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked into the darkness.

“No.”

Jon leaned over and lit a candle by the bedside. He laid onto his side so he could face Dany. “What is it.”

She took his hand and placed it onto the bare skin of her swollen belly. “Feel.”

The kick from inside her stomach jolted him.

“Oh my,” he breathed.

“She’s quite active in there.”

“She?” He questioned. “You think it’s a girl?”

She put a fist down onto the bed, pushing herself up further, a hand settling at the base of her stomach. “Yes. I keep having dreams about her.”

—

Daenerys had been correct and a daughter it was. The labor was intense, lasting all day and night. Jon paced back and forth with Ghost watching until he caved and went into the room the screams were coming from. Dany did not protest, and he let her nearly break his fingers when he held her hand.

It was magical.

This little being was there in front of him, part him and part Daenerys. Her tiny fingers wrapped around Jon’s index finger. Love flooded him instantly, overwhelming every part of his system, drowning him in light.

There had been so much on his mind up until that point but it had all vanished instantly.

A girl.

A daughter.

He was at a loss for words, mouthing something even though he had no idea what he was trying to get across to Daenerys. Dany’s hand reached out for him. As they stayed and watched, Jon somehow knew that everything was going to work out for the better. He was going to do everything he could to protect all his family there at Winterfell, including the new addition, the most valuable one to him.

A daughter.

He almost did not believe it.

His life had taken such a dramatic turn. There had been so much that he was unsure of along the way but standing there with his newborn daughter in his arms, he had perfect clarity. The Night King and his army would fall, his family would remain safe and rule in the North, as it was meant to be. Jon would take residence in King’s Landing with Daenerys and their daughter. Lyanna, that was what Daenerys said she wanted as a name and Jon could not refuse that.

Long after Jon and Daenerys departed from the world, Lyanna Targaryen would take over and rule, just as her father and mother had. Left to her would be a kingdom of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and all the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter goes up tomorrow! 
> 
> You can also find me on Tumblr at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/elizaduringdawn


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